


Beyond Words

by stubliminalmessaging



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Slow Build, Super romance powerrrrrr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/pseuds/stubliminalmessaging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is a shy little man who moves to London from his small hometown to persue his dream of becoming a speech therapist. There he makes friends, works his dream job, and persues a romantic relationship with an unlikely acquaintance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond Words

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic was given to me by tumblr user sheetmusicjunkie! Hope she enjoys it!

                Bilbo Baggins was a simple man with simple needs. He woke up in morning and ate his breakfast, went to his job as an office worker at his local library, then came home and made dinner while he worked on his homework. His routine had been consistent for many years and he was content in it, so when he received the letter offering him a job from a prestigious university in London he was almost tempted to turn it down.

 

                It was mostly out of fear, really. He had never lived anywhere other than his hometown of Shireton and even when he had gone on vacations with his family as a child he had grown homesick after only a couple of days. Even in the effort to get his PhD he had only traveled to the nearest city with a university and had lived at home and studied there. The way he saw it, the Shire was his home and he would never need to live anywhere else, so he’d write a polite regretful letter turning down the offer and send it off and go back to his routine like it had never happened.

 

                He didn’t, though. One afternoon while he was working on making dinner an old family friend by the name of Gandalf Grayson stopped in for an unexpected visit. Always a gracious host and an excellent cook, Bilbo had easily prepared more than enough food to accommodate his friend, and after dinner they talked about life over a cup of sweet hot tea.

 

                It took a little bit of prodding from the tenacious old man before Bilbo told him about the job offer and congratulations were issued. He told Gandalf that he didn’t plan to take the job and he was aghast.

 

                “Foolish boy!” he had exclaimed, taking Bilbo aback somewhat. The man had only even been a chuckling talkative jolly old man. Bilbo wondered what he had done to sour his favour. “The world and your life are ahead and you sit cowering in your sleepy little town! You need to take this job and you need to move to London, for the good of your career!”

 

                Bilbo sighed and sipped his tea. “I’m _happy_ here, Gandalf. Moving is so expensive and unnecessary.”

 

                “It is _entirely_ necessary!” Gandalf insisted. “How about this – this weekend, I’ll take you back to London with me and you can explore the campus and hopefully that will bring you to your senses! The school is impressive and you really cannot afford to pass up an opportunity like this.”

 

                “What makes you think I’m not busy this weekend?” Bilbo huffed. “I could be going to a party or on a date or something for all you know!”

 

                “Bilbo, my dear fellow, I know you too well for that.” Gandalf cast him a withering look that made Bilbo want to hit him. “Your problem is that you don’t go anywhere or do anything. Since the last time I saw you, you’ve changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins.”

 

                “Then perhaps you ought to have visited more often, because I’d say you missed a few things,” Bilbo grumbled, biting into a biscuit with no small degree of ferocity.

 

                “I can’t help but feel inclined to agree,” Gandalf sighed, and let it die.

 

                Before the evening was over Gandalf had convinced Bilbo to come to London with him. He offered to pay his fares there and back again and put him up in his guest room while he stayed there. The city was amazing and he felt himself changing his mind with every trip on the underground and every step he took around his future workplace.

 

                The weekend passed in a blur of train rides and cozy little cafes and diners. Gandalf knew all the places to take Bilbo to effectively charm him to the city and by the time he was on the train back home he was already working on his acceptance letter to send to the university.

 

                Packing had been tedious and time consuming and he’d had to sell up more furniture and family heirlooms that he really wanted but he was downsizing to an apartment and all of his antiques and things surely would not fit. At such an important move it was better to be burdened with more coin and less hundred-year-old chairs and pottery anyhow.

 

                If the packing process was tedious then the _un_ packing took an eternity. He was so busy getting his new job arranged that he hadn’t managed to unpack and was living out of boxes until about a week into working through his clinical period at the university. It was the final step he had to take before finally getting his PhD and he didn’t even have a nicely ironed shirt to wear until a week in. It was a good thing he’d bought a few new one for the job, so he managed to make those last until he absolutely had to do some laundry.

 

                The job was better than he had ever dreamed of. He privately thanked Gandalf for convincing him to take it, since working in the library had been nice and all but it did not allow him to work the kind of job he loved. He taught an introductory sign language course and everything about it was perfect for a few months, until winter rolled around and he discovered that the heating in his classroom was finicky and inconsistent and sometimes he wondered if they had a furnace in his wing of the school at all.

 

                That was how he had met Bofur. After weeks of struggling with a frigid classroom and complaining to his superiors to no avail he took it upon himself to get help. He was eating lunch in his office one afternoon when in popped the face of the man that would fast become his best friend.

 

                “Heard you had a cabinet that needed fixin’!” the man exclaimed, grinning toothily. His moustache twitched up with his lips and Bilbo found it hard to be grumpy when that disarming smile was aimed at him.

 

                Still, Bilbo spoke to him with a clipped tone, which he didn’t deserve. “I have a few things that need fixing, not that you apparently are aware.”

 

                “That so?” he asked, and when he took his jacket off and laid it on back of the chair in front of Bilbo’s desk, he could read that the nametag on his navy blue uniform shirt had ‘Bofur’ embroidered in neat cursive on it. Without another word he sat down in the chair and leaned on his elbows which were propped on his knees.

 

                Bilbo knew Bofur wanted him to continue talking but he faltered quite a bit. He had gotten used to people stepping around him since he was the newest member of staff and he was a fair bit spinny with how stressed out he was. But this man – not even a co-worker but a _repairman_ – had invited himself into Bilbo’s office and taken a seat like they were good old friends.

 

                Bilbo cleared his throat and said, voice firm. “I’m having heating troubles in my classroom.”

 

“Oh! You’re in H114, aren’t you, you poor bugger!” When Bilbo nodded Bofur continued. “And the powers that be don’t seem to be doin’ a thing about it?” Again, Bilbo nodded. “Right! Well! From now on you just go ahead and skip the middle man and come straight to me. It takes a gentle, steady hand to tame ol’ Helga, and I happen to be a bloke with just the right kind of hand.”

 

“You’ll fix Hel- m-my classroom’s furnace?!” Bilbo shook off his embarrassment at that ridiculous (almost) tongue slip. His excitement and relief outweighed it. “Really?!”

 

Bofur chuckled and stood, extending a hand across Bilbo’s desk where the little man was sitting grading assignments. Bilbo didn’t think before shaking his hand and when he they separated after exchanging names and declarations of service Bilbo found that his hand was sooty and greasy from shaking Bofur’s. He patted himself down with his free hand and found that he had chosen that day of all days to forget his pocket handkerchief. Bofur had been kind enough to offer him a dirty rag from the back pocket of his jeans and Bilbo used the last clean corner to wipe the worst of the filth from his hands.

 

“I’d better get to work on your cabinet, and I’ll take a look at ol’ Helga before I clock out tonight,” Bofur said, tugging a slim miniature flashlight from his tool belt and using it to inspect the dark corners inside the cabinet and behind it. He fixed the broken drawer that Bilbo hadn’t even noticed was broken and then bid him farewell.

 

“Wait!” he called as Bofur scooped up his jacket and headed for the door. “How will I contact you if the furnace acts up?”

 

“Oh!” Bofur exclaimed, laughing apparently at his own forgetfulness. He went to the edge of Bilbo’s desk and tugged a stray memo pad towards him. He scribbled down his name and number and pushed it back towards Bilbo. “That’s my mobile so if Helga’s misbehaving, which I’m sure she will be before too long, give us a ring and I’ll be on my way.”

 

                “Thank you very much,” Bilbo said, nearly a sigh. “I’d say see you soon, but hopefully it’s not too soon for the furnace’s sake.”

 

                “Oh, Mister Baggins, if we’re going to see each other every time Helga throws a fit, we will be getting to know each other verywell.”

 

                Bofur hadn’t been wrong. Though, Bilbo did hold off from calling him as long as he could. After a week of frigid classes during which even his students had issued complaints, he finally gave in and called Bofur during the half-hour break he had between two of his afternoon classes. He’d told him the problem and Bofur had said he’d have a look at her then swing by his classroom to make sure everything was working for him.

 

                Of course, not five minutes after Bilbo heard the dastardly furnace roar back to life and sweet warm air was filtering in through the vents, Bofur’s head popped into the doorway. Bilbo thanked him enthusiastically and offered him a slice of homemade banana bread he’d brought as a snack. Bofur took the treat with a tip of his hat then made small talk until Bilbo’s next class. When he left he said ‘see ya tomorrow, lad!’ on the way out and Bilbo found himself not exactly hating the idea.

 

                It was a rare thing for Bilbo to go a day without seeing Bofur and he always had some snack or another to offer the repairman for a job well done. Soon Bofur was stopping by to visit him without the pretense of fixing the furnace, and it was the third time this happened as he was waving goodbye to Bofur one afternoon after sharing a couple of glossy honey cakes with him that he realized that he had just made his first friend in his new city and his new life.

 

                The first time Bofur had come to visit him during his lunch break the man had been skittish like Bilbo had never seen him before. He stared at the floor and dragged his toe across it and asked if Bilbo had anyone to eat lunch with. Bilbo said no, he did not, and did not miss a beat in asking Bofur to eat lunch with him.

 

                Bofur had done a complete turnaround in attitude when Bilbo said that. He was all twitchy-moustache smiles and crinkles around the eyes again. He ducked outside Bilbo’s office to retrieve his lunchbox and then plopped down into the chair in front of Bilbo’s desk. Bilbo’s lunch of homemade macaroni and cheese had tasted especially good that day when he had a friend to keep him company. He had this same lunch company every day after that too.

 

                It wasn’t until the very end of the school year that Bilbo met with Gandalf again. Bilbo told him about his class and the city and how he’d gotten lost a lot at first but he had gotten used to the underground and had only been late for work once. Gandalf laughed at that and said ‘not so respectable anymore, my dear Bilbo!’ When he told Gandalf about the furnace and Bofur and their fast friendship, the usually wise old man turned into a nagging old bag as he poked and prodded Bilbo until he agreed to invite Bofur over.

 

                Bilbo was confused at Gandalf’s sudden nagging as he texted his friend and when he received a reply suggesting that he go over to Bofur’s on Friday night after work he didn’t show it to Gandalf because he wasn’t ready to admit it yet. Bofur said that his cousin (who he lives with) was really excited to meet Bilbo because Bofur talked about him so much and Bilbo was very happy to text Bofur a reply that sure, he’ll be there and he’ll bring a case of pop. Gandalf was smug when Bilbo sheepishly told him about the invitation and their conversation was light and cheerful from there on until they had a good tea and gossip session and Gandalf bid him farewell and took his leave. He ducked out of Bilbo’s door with a wink and wished him good luck on his date and Bilbo didn’t even have time to be flustered and sputter out an objection before the old coot was gone.

 

                Bilbo had lunch with Bofur for the last two days of the week and learned more about his family. He is the older of two siblings and he has one cousin who is the one he lives with. His name is Bifur and he is a retired soldier. He was laid off from his tour when he was shot in the head and barely survived. He made it out in fairly decent shape health-wise save for the bullet lodged precariously in his brain. The doctors say that at the moment it is not hurting him and so they left it in there. He is in the early stages of speech therapy to recover his use of the English language but it is not going so well. He mostly signs and speaks Russian (his first language) to Bofur and his friends from before his tour. Bilbo is enthusiastic about this, since the PhD he is working on is in speech and language and his eventual goal is to become a speech therapist.

 

                When he showed up to the address Bofur had given him (after following the poorly drawn map the repairman had given him that got him so frustrated he just googled it on his phone anyways) he hefted his case of Coke up the stairs to the sixth floor. Bofur’s apartment was a corner one so he had windows on two sides instead of just one and it smelled like pizza when he arrived. He had seen the pizza guy on the way up the stairs so he knew he was right on time.

 

                Bofur greeted him cheerfully at the door and took the case of pop from him to put in the fridge, sending him off in the direction of the living room to get a seat and have a look at the games he’d dug out of the closet. Bilbo made absolutely sure that Bofur didn’t need any help in the kitchen getting the pizza unpacked and laid out before he went to the living room to peruse the games.

 

                In the doorway from the kitchen he froze. It took him a moment to job his memory – Bifur, cousin, war vet, sign or Russian – before he was able to step further into the room. He stood by the table a moment before Bifur looked up at him and he smiled and signed ‘can I sit with you?’ and when Bifur nodded he sunk onto the loveseat opposite him.

 

                Bifur seemed uninterested in Bilbo, but the little man was very intrigued by him and observed his every movement. He looked a couple of years older than Bofur but didn’t look very much like him. Where Bofur’s hair was deep chestnut brown Bifur’s was coal black and he had streaks of silver at his temples. His goatee and moustache were peppered with gray as well. In the second that he looked up at Bilbo, he noted the deep blue of his eyes, another difference between him and Bofur. He had a deep circular burn on his temple and Bilbo assumed it was the entry wound from the bullet. The stitches were out and it was healing fairly well, but the burn would never go away, just fade into a scar. The scar didn’t take away from his handsomeness though, and Bilbo tried to think of something else.

 

                He looked away from Bifur just as he felt light fingertips tapping on his wrist. He looked down the find Bifur’s hand there and looked up to find those eyes looking right at him. He held up the Game of Life and signed ‘read for me?’ then pointed at the description. Bilbo nodded and took the box from him, then he did. It was a game he had played before and enjoyed so he explained the little cars and little people and the different obstacles you can encounter in the game. He ended the explanation by saying; “Though I can’t imagine why anyone would actually want to play a game where only bad things happen to you! It’s not like any of those things actually happen in real life!”

 

                Then he looked at Bifur and immediately felt like an idiot. That bad thing you read about and think ‘that could never happen to me’ was exactly the kind of thing that had happened to Bifur and now he was making jokes about it. He fell silent and set the box down, leaning on his elbows and avoiding Bifur’s gaze.

 

                That hand appeared to tap his wrist again and he looked up to see Bifur smiling and it was radiant and stunning and Bilbo fell a little bit in love with him right then and there. He signed ‘don’t feel bad, I need a joke once in a while’ and then passed Bilbo another box.

 

                Before taking the box from Bifur Bilbo signed ‘how well can you read?’ then took it and awaited Bifur’s answer. Bifur replied ‘most of it, but those two games had a lot of words I didn’t know’ and so Bilbo began reading the instructions and explaining the rules of Trivial Pursuit.

 

                Bofur stuck his head into the room (very reminiscent of how he always stuck his head into Bilbo’s class and his office, Bilbo told Bifur later) while Bilbo was explaining his degree and the job he wanted to get with it. He said the pizza was in the kitchen and they needed to come and get it, plus he’d made macaroni and potato salad which Bifur was very happy about.

 

                When they are all seated on Bofur’s couches with plates piled with slices of pizza and salads Bilbo asked Bifur if he was a vegetarian, based on all the veggies on his pizza and his enthusiasm about Bofur’s salads and he nodded. The meal went fairly smoothly though Bilbo found it was hard to divide his attention between Bofur and Bifur. On one hand, Bifur was someone knew who he had never interacted with before and Bofur was someone he spent time with every day so Bilbo should take advantage of this chance to talk to Bifur. On the other, Bofur was his friend (his _best_ friend, Bilbo corrected) and it wouldn’t do to be ignoring him in his own house.

 

                Shortly before they started playing Monopoly Bifur started a small conversation in Russian with Bofur who was in hysterics by the end of it and had to excuse himself, not without a wink as he went off down the hall presumably to the washroom. Bilbo asked Bifur what happened and Bifur told him that he’d told Bofur a good joke about a dragon and he told Bilbo and the little man understood why he was in such hysterics. Bilbo found he very much enjoyed Bifur’s voice, deep and somewhat gruff, though that might just have been the language he spoke.

 

                He asked Bifur if he could speak any words in English, and Bifur replied ‘some.’ He pondered a moment, then listed off words, most of them names, and Bilbo felt sick in the chest at hearing him speak. His voice was even and low and melodic and Bilbo hoped that someday his name would be on the list of words he could pronounce.

 

                When Bofur came back he was strangely smug and Bilbo tried not to think about it as he sat down with them and they began their game of Monopoly. Bifur was very good at the game, and he reminded Bilbo of one of those gangsters from the movies except Russian. Bofur was a bit of a force to be reckoned with as well and Bilbo thought absently that these two must play often. He knew he had accidentally gotten himself into a game that would end in a pitiful loss on his art but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel too bad because though he was losing he was laughing and Bifur was smiling at him and he was having fun.

 

                Bifur and Bofur both had several sets of properties with buildings on all of them and were making a small fortune off Bilbo and each other. Unfortunately every time Bilbo landed on one of their properties he had to mortgage and property, while when one of them landed on the other’s property it barely made a dent in his stack of cash. Together they were terrifying.

 

Bilbo had two properties in a set and Bifur had the last one and he was just about to miserably mortgage one of them to cover his losses when he felt a hand tapping his knee under the table. He looked up from his depressing pile of bills and over to Bifur who winked at him and nudged his knee again. He reached under the table to Bifur’s hand and found a handful of bills there and he sputtered a moment before he took them. He used the money to pay that round then tried to give it back to Bifur but the man was ignoring his attempts to give it back. Bilbo tried to slide it into Bifur’s piles of bills but he just pushed it back towards Bilbo and signed ‘what are you doing? I don’t need your money.’ Bilbo flushed and sorted the money into little piles according to denominations of the bills and Bofur was looking smug again.

 

The next time Bifur tapped his leg under the table he tried to ignore him. It wasn’t fair to Bofur that he kept giving things to Bilbo and so he figured ignoring him would discourage his behaviour. Before rolling on his next turn Bifur placed a card down next to the two other pieces of property in the set that Bilbo had wanted to collect and his jaw nearly dropped when he realized that Bifur had given him the third property from the set that he needed. He mumbled his thanks and felt like his ears were going to burn off with how hard he was blushing.

 

Bifur ended up winning and Bilbo ended up bankrupt of course, but they shared enough laughs and smiled and playful nudges that Bofur deemed the night a total success. By the end of the night (and it was a _late_ one, about 1am when they finished their game and Bilbo was getting ready to go home) Bilbo was asking when he could come over again to see Bifur. And Bofur, of course. Bofur laughed and told him he could come over any time he wanted and to text him, and Bifur scribbled a number out on a $1 Monopoly bill that he gave to Bilbo with a shy little smile.

 

When Bilbo bid his farewells and left the apartment with his bag laden with leftovers, he leaned against the wall beside their door and sighed dreamily. Bifur’s phone number felt like it was burning a hole in Bilbo’s pocket and he was tempted to add it to his phone right then and there but resisted for fear of coming on too strong.

 

                He was nearly home by the time he realized with a wave of hot shame that Gandalf had been right. It had been a date, and Bofur had been the third wheel.


End file.
